


Not the Same

by MisMiz (Jaaaaack51)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Disappointment, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loneliness, Melancholy, POV Original Character, Past Character Death, Post-Canon, Regret, Running Away, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:02:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5275793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaaaaack51/pseuds/MisMiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life isn't what he thought it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the Same

He should be here soon. I've been waiting for him to show up. He comes here every year on this same day. I was ten the first time I saw him. Me and pa had just moved to town recently and since we tended to keep mostly to ourselves, we didn't have any notion of who he was. Pa didn't much care. He was too busy pulling weeds and trying to pretty the place up so he'd get paid. I was helping some, but at that age I was more interested in minding other people's business than my own. I'm near thirty now. And usually too busy for other folks' troubles, what with having to take over pa's duties since his rheumatism got so bad. The townsfolk don't seem to mind who does the work though, as long as it gets done. And it's not as bad as you might think-taking care of a cemetery like I do. Dead people don't scare me. It's the living ones that do that.

But anyway, like I was saying. He's come every year for as long as I've been here. He's always by himself and he always goes to the same grave. Never brings flowers or nothing. Just a bottle of whiskey. He pours half of it on the grave and drinks the other half. Sometimes he drinks it real fast and sometimes he drinks it real slow. And then after he drinks it, he'll start talking. I've never gotten close enough to hear what he was saying, though. When I was little, Pa would've smacked me upside the head for being so disrespectful. And then, when I got older, I just could never quite bring myself to do it. Even though I wanted to.

I drifted a bit closer to the gravesite. I wanted to look it over one more time before he got here. Make sure it looked presentable. I ran a critical eye over things. I always took special care of this particular area, so I couldn't find nothing to complain of. I know I said I don't have time for minding other folk's business anymore, but he was different.

He'd looked so young when I first saw him, with his shaggy dark hair and smooth, pale skin. And he wasn't real big. But I thought he looked kind of dashing. Like a hero of some kind, with his fancy guns and funny hat. But then I got a good look at his eyes. They were big and brown and full of the worst kind of pain. A broken hero, if there ever was one. Seems to me that they all get to be that way after a while. Makes me glad I got no inclinations in that direction. I'm happy enough just keeping a bunch of dead people comfortable.

Over the years a little grey has crept into his hair and his skin aint quite as smooth, but he aint run a bit to fat, like a lot of men do when they reach a certain age. And his eyes are still so full of pain that it would break your heart. It always takes me a few days to get over feeling sad after he leaves. That kind of pain is hard to shake, even when it aint your own.

I found out who he was right after I seen him the first year. I wanted a name to put to those eyes. And so I asked around a bit and got one. JD Dunne-formerly the sheriff in this town. Him and six others. None of them were there anymore, though. A couple of them had ridden out together and disappeared. Heading towards Tascosa, they said. No one knew what had happened to them after they rode out. One of them left for San Francisco to try his luck there. According to the townsfolk, he'd gotten damned lucky and was near as rich as God now. Ooops. Pa says ladies don't cuss. I always tell him I aint no lady and he just sighs and shakes his head. But it's true. I aint. Don't want to be. Anyway, the healer and the preacher moved on, once the town got real ones of those, with degrees and everything. There wasn't no need for them anymore, I guess. That's gratitude for you. Way I understand it, those men saved this town more than once.

That takes care of five out of the seven, right? Well, the way I heard it, JD left town and went back to Boston a few years before I moved here with my pa. He was the first one to leave. Mighty long trip to come back every year like he does. I guess he was real close to the seventh man. The one who's buried in the cemetery. Buck Wilmington.

The sun is warm today and I'm tired. He still hasn't arrived, so I put down my shovel and lay down on one of the graves. I'll just stay here a minute until he comes, then I'll get up. But I fall asleep instead. It isn't until I hear his voice real close by that I realize it, though. I know I should probably get up instead of laying here eavesdropping, but I want to hear, in his own words, what kind of pain he's been carrying around inside him all these years. And somehow, today it don't feel so disrespectful doing this. Maybe that's what he really needs, even if he don't know it. Someone to listen. Someone who aint been dead and buried for twenty years or more.

"It's not the same, Buck." He sounded real tired. I peek around the corner of the gravestone near my head and see the empty bottle of whiskey on the ground next to him. I must have been asleep longer than I thought if he's already drank it all.

"Nothing in my life has turned out the way I thought it would. It aint that it's been all bad. It's just that it aint been good either. It's just been... there. Kind of like me. Some days I wake up and look in a mirror and wonder if Casey and the kids even notice I'm there. If anyone does. If it even matters."

He closed his eyes, a smile crossing his face like quicksilver. "I always knew who I was and what I wanted when I was out here. When I was with ya'll. Casey tries, well she used to anyway. But it just aint the same." He repeated the words in a near whisper. I could barely hear him over the droning of the bees nearby. Then he opened his eyes and continued talking.

"I get up and go to work where I push a pencil around all day, sitting at a desk. Anyone could do it. It don't make the world a better place as far as I can tell. It just puts food on the table. I always wanted to make a difference, change the world, make my mark. Only time I did any of that stuff was when I was with you and the others. But at least I got to do it for a while. Live my dream. Most of the fellas in the office aint ever done anything like that. I don't think most of them even have any dreams. I know I don't. Not anymore. The saddest part was how long it took me to realize that."

"I guess I was able to fool myself for a long time after I went back to Boston. Fooled Casey, too. I said it was only temporary, that we'd go back one day and start over. I said it and said it, but I never did it. Until she finally quit listening to me altogether. Now she mostly has her friends and the kids to keep her busy. Our first grandchild is due next month. I feel guilty that I aint more excited. Not like everyone thinks I should be."

He paused and took a deep breath. I saw him rub his eyes. I don't think he was crying, but he looked like he wished he could.

"I tried to be a good husband and father, but that wasn't like I thought it would be, either. The kids didn't really need me. They're good kids, but sometimes it's like they're strangers. There's none of the laughing and the closeness I can remember with my own ma. Or with ya'll. And me and Casey aint laughed or fished or done much of anything at all since... well since the day we buried you here."

I held my breath. Now maybe I'd find out what had happened all those years ago to put that look in his eyes. No one in town knew exactly what had happened. Just that there had been a shootout and one of the seven had been killed in the exchange. The one he's talking to right now.

"I used to think it was my fault you got killed. Just like it was with Annie. Now I realize it don't matter if it was my fault or not. It won't bring you back. Nothing will. But I ran, instead of facing it. Instead of facing the others. And that's what eats me up now. I took the easy way. The cowardly way. I hung up my guns and ran back to the city, not because I thought it was the right thing to do, but because I was afraid to know the truth. I couldn't have lived with myself if it was my fault you died. You had warned me not to go after Mason alone, but I thought I could take him. I was a damn fool kid. But what I am now is even worse."

The wind had picked up in the last few minutes, bringing a damp chill with it. It smelled like rain would be coming soon. But he didn't appear to notice. Just sat there, staring down at the ground like he was hoping it would open up and swallow him or something. Like he wanted to disappear for good and get it over with already. I had the sudden urge to go over to him and tell him that I would miss him when he was gone. But I didn't, of course.

"What could be worse than living a life you hate because it's easier than doing something else? I don't know exactly what happened. I guess it just got easier and easier to stay where I was at. Not think about anything. The only time I think about most things now is when I'm here. Talking to a man who's been dead for twenty years."

A funny sort of choked sound came out of his throat when he said this, but he coughed a few times and then went on.

"I'm so sorry, Buck. Sorry I couldn't be the man ya'll expected. Sorry I didn't turn out to be the kind of man Casey wanted in a husband. Sorry I've wasted my life on things that don't matter and given up all the things that do, just because it was easier."

He sort of laughed then, but it wasn't a cheerful sort of laugh. It sounded sad. Just like his eyes.

"Sometimes I think I can still hear you. Telling me to quit feeling sorry for myself and get on with my life. To buy Casey some flowers, tell my Boss to go soak his head, whatever it takes to know I'm alive. And I think about doing all that stuff and more. But then your voice goes away and I wonder if maybe it was never there to begin with. And so I go on doing nothing."

He was quiet for a minute. "I miss your goddamned stupid lectures, Buck. Guess I needed them after all, didn't I? Since I haven't done too well on my own. I miss Chris always knowing what to do and Josiah always knowing what to say and Vin always knowing how to get us where we needed to be and Ezra always knowing how to talk our way in and out of trouble, and Nathan always knowing how to put us back together again afterwards. Most of all, I miss the way I felt when I was with ya'll. Like I was doing something important. Something real good that people would remember."

"I don't know where the others are anymore. Except you. I always know where you are. After I ran away from here, I guess they all got on with the business of living. I hope they made a better job of it than I have. I've never asked anyone in town, though. I don't want to know really, I guess. So I take the train into Junction Flats and rent a horse to ride out here. That way I won't run into anyone from the old days. If they're even around still. Besides, it's the only time I get to really ride anymore. Aint much call for it in the city."

He sighs heavily and I get the feeling that he's running out of steam. He seems more tired than I can ever recall seeing him. That worries me some. But I don't know what to do about it. I never have known how to talk to people real good.

"You're probably tired of hearing about this, Buck. I know I aint had it so bad, compared to a lot of folks." He paused a bit before adding softly, "And at least I'm still alive to complain about it. But it's like someone took one of Nathan's knives and cut something out of me all those years ago. The best part of me. I aint the JD Dunne that you knew. And lately, I've been wondering if maybe I never was. If maybe I was only that way as a reflection of ya'll. Like a mirror. And sometimes when I think that, I'm glad you're not around to find out the answer. At least this way, I can still blame my failures on you dying."

He got slowly to his feet and stood looking down at the simple, but nice and well kept, grave. "Goodbye, Buck. See you next year."

Turning, he walked slowly out of the cemetery. How come I never noticed how feeble he looked before? He wasn't that old. Younger than my pa. But looking at him now, I wondered if I'd ever see him again. But even if I didn't, I'd never forget him. And I'd still keep that particular grave as pretty as I knew how.

I waited until he was out of sight before getting to my feet and picking up my shovel. Then I went back to work, wiping my eyes a bit where they burned and stung. I'd get over this achy feeling in my chest after a while. I always did.

]

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Poor JD. Living a life of quiet desperation. Fading a little more each day. Good thing it's just a story. I have no doubt the real JD is off somewhere at this very moment arguing with Buck about the right way to do...something. Anything. lol
> 
> As always thanks for reading. :)


End file.
